Impulse
by AndBeAVillian
Summary: Aayla Secura had always been impulsive. Sometimes too impulsive. Aayla/Bly. What a mess it could have been.
1. Chapter 1

_Impulse_

A/N: Sorry about the delay. It needed...something. Just wasn't happy with it. Sorry. Enjoy.

The list is filled with names.

Well-known, respected names of capable Jedi. Some are the silver-tongued ones like Obiwan Kenobi, able to talk their way in or out of many tight spaces. Others the stern, commanding figures who had mastered the delicate art of the most demanding lightsaber forms, the Mace Windus of the Order. Renoun healers such as Barriss Offee.

All friends, ones she would've -had- trusted with her life.

Every single name is crossed out.

Even Yoda's.

The trouble, Aayla Secura mentally grumbles, with being a Jedi Knight and current General of the Republic's clone Army is you don't socialize much outside the Order.

At least no one she'd gotten close to enough to discuss _this_ mess with.

Which is why she was sitting in her tent cradling her pounding head, remembering how she'd gotten here in the first place.

_The shed was empty, dim, and passably clean. Whatever animal had been kept here was gone but hay was still piled neatly in stalls. She shoved him against the wall with enough force to crack a board. _

It had been a stupid, _stupid_ spur-of-the-moment thing to do. Sure, it'd been building in the back of her mind for awhile. A fantasy never to be acted upon, kept in the back of her mind with all the other wants and emotions a Jedi wasn't supposed to have.

Plus, her brain piped in, even if he did look like a male in the prime of life clone Commander Bly wasn't even ten years old. He probably didn't even realize certain portions of his anatomy could function like that.

It was a throwback from her intensely physical Twi'lek heritage. Something to be ignored.

Until it happened.

_His first reaction had been to reach for his weapon, scan the area for anything hostile. In a different situation she might've laughed at the utterly confused expression on his face after she'd ripped his helmet off and tossed his gun into a hay pile with her lightsaber._

A barn. They'd been in a barn, with a dirt floor. Classy, Secura.

At least it hadn't been a cheap motel.

Thinking, Aayla reflectes wryly, hadn't been included. He'd been the one with the presence of mind to sweep the place. She couldn't even remember if the door had been closed.

Clone training. Blessed and cursed in the same breath. Half the reason she had a headache the size of the Grand Army of the Republic.

_It was probably Bly's first kiss and there was nothing romantic about it. Both of them were covered in mud, blood, oil, and sweat. In a less frenzied moment she might've stopped, taken his utter stillness for discomfort or disinterest. Instead she took advantage of his passive stillness to dominate him._

Normally it wouldn't even be an issue. Plenty of men would jump at the chance to bed her. But this was...different. Hundreds of clones had been in her service. Not once had any leered in her direction.

Definitely different. Slightly unnerving.

He's a clone. She's his commanding officer. Asking had not been involved.

Aayla Secura does not like _that_implication. It mades her queasy, even the vaguest notion of it.

Lekku twitching in irritation, she goes over the list again. Someone has to understand clone psychology, know how clones viewed sex. This couldn't be the first clone to ever get laid.

Right?

It doesn't matter, she realizes. She's broken the Code. Even if she could go to Master Yoda and announce 'I just kinda had sex with, maybe raped, my clone Commander and I'm not really sure how he took it or how it'll effect our working relationship. Got any words of wisdom for me?' it would get her into some very hot water.

Without answers.

Still, to see the look on Yoda's face...No. Even for that it wouldn't be worth it.

Tossing the crumpled list onto her bed roll with a curse, Aayla begins to pace.

_Bly made a half-hearted attempt to stop her once she started pulling at his armor, dark eyes wild and worried. She cut him off before he could get a word out, the hand sliding up his inner thigh and the bruising kiss convincing him resistance was futile. _

In hindsight she should've seen it coming. Well, something like it coming. Hadn't the Council been herding her away from "attachments" for years?

First she'd been "too close" to Quinlan Vos. Then Kit Fisto.

Hindsight, she reflected ruefully, was so much better than foresight. Maybe the Council expected this from her. That thought leaves a bad taste in her mouth and she swallows reluctantly.

She doesn't even love Bly. Love...

"Kit...How will I tell him?" she askes the empty air.

When she thinks of roses, of children, and romance Kit Fisto comes to mind. If it wasn't for the Order they would probably have a pack of brats already.

Bly is...not a friend exactly. Close, a comrade, a war buddy, but barely a friend. She trusted him to have her back in combat, but she has...philosophical issues. Its-against-my-religion type philosophical issues. The slavish devotion to orders, the lack of empathy, far too much of his admittedly sparse personality are things she has problems with.

Things she can't change.

Nope, not in love with Bly's sparkling personality.

She uncrumples the list.

_Clone armor was harder to get off then she'd anticipated, the buckles unfamiliar and clumsy in her impatient hands. Bly made no move to help or hinder her. His hands were flat against the wall he'd been thrown against, making no move to touch her. Those hands buried themselves in dirt when she finally pushed both of them to the ground._

It wasn't really physical either though. It's immensely cheering to note she isn't out to screw as many random clones as she could. Jango Fett might be a great mercenary but he wouldn't win any beauty pageants. He isn't ugly but far handsomer men wander the galaxy.

At least, she thinks with a wry chuckle, she's escaped shallowness in her own mind.

Picking him out of a crowd of clones, even without the distinctive armor, is second nature by now. An amazingly unique individual he might not be but none of the other clones are quite him.

Good reason the Council doesn't need to know. Bly is her trusty right hand. Breaking in a new clone - she wasn't stupid enough to think they'd let her keep working with an "attachment" - would waste time and energy better put toward winning her campaigns.

Putting aside how oddly fond she is of the bastard.

It wasn't like he was pining away for her either. "Love" is a foreign concept she tried explaining to him once.

Only once. The total lack of comprehension was so disturbing she'd had nightmares.

Now that very lack is a bit of a relief. Less of a tangle to work out. She hopes. Pain pounds in her skull enough as it is.

_It was messy. The fine soil stuck to their sweaty skin, creating a thin layer of silt over both of them. The cuts from the newly finished battle bled fresh blood to join the dried black crust already there. The sex was fast and hard, no lingering caresses or whispered promises. The bites hard enough to mark his skin for days after. _

The Order, the Code, and the Council would have to wait. A war is going on, regardless of who fucked who. The Army needed alert officers, not distracted ones.

Now was probably a good time to stop avoiding Bly as if this whole mess was his fault. She snorts. Force only knows what he thinks of her.

Of what had happened.

They have to talk sometime. It makes her skin crawl, but ignoring it isn't an option.

Its three days too late to act like it isn't a big deal. Bly isn't dumb enough to believe three days avoidance is nothing. Normal Jedi behavior this is not.

If he talks to one of the other commanders...Word'll get back to someone. Clones are worse than old women when it comes to gossip.

And rumors about the two of them aren't new.

_She fell asleep almost as soon as she was finished, the adrenalin high finally wearing off. Neither of them had moved when she woke sometime later, disoriented and half-convinced it had been a dream. He didn't wake when she left, something Aayla viewed with relief and surprise. She needed time to gather herself and realize what she'd done. _

Barriss is her best bet for help. Sensitive, with a healer's delicate touch, and a good friend too. Barriss might keep her secret. It's a last resort.

Pieces of the list fall in tatters to the ground.

Tomorrow she'll talk to Bly. Then go from there.

Before sleep takes her Aayla wonders why she doesn't just mention an "attachment" to the Council. She'd be half the galaxy away, no questions asked. Problem solved.

She's out before the uncomfortable questions start rearing their ugly heads.

A/N: So was it an improvement? Or did I make it worse?


	2. Chapter 2

_Impulse_

* * *

_We live as we dream. Alone. _

_- Joseph Conrad_

* * *

The mirror is a plain silver thing most cheap lodgings have. Probably have. Not that he'd know. Clone Commander Bly's rugged face is impassive, eyes unreadably blank as any doll.

The white-knuckle grip on the sink betrays him. The reflection today fascinates him. He has never needed a mirror before.

His mirrors walk beside him everyday, all carbon copies of the same man. Hell, he could probably shave if one of his _vod_ copied his movements.

Today is the first time he has ever really looked at his own reflection, searching swarthy features he can't completely call his own. They belong to his _vod_, to all of his brothers.

Something is new though. Something he does not share.

Slowly he raises a trembling hand to pull the collar of his jumpsuit down. Dark eyes stare unblinking, unable to look away.

The smooth silver surface of the mirror reflects the bruises. The ones his brothers don't have. The marks.

* * *

_When she pushed him hard against the wall he thought she'd sensed another one of those damn droids, the place was rigged, something threatening and lethal. _

_The odd intent predatory look on her face was one he'd never seen her wear, not even in the heat of battle. _

_Had it been anyone else he would have fought. But this was General Aayla Secura, who hadn't led him wrong yet._

* * *

Bly throws his head back and presses a hand over his eyes in frustration. He can still feel the slight throb on his skin and the imprints of her teeth are still on his neck.

And his shoulders.

He can picture them with crystal clarity behind his closed lids. The event plays over and over in his head, seeping in to taint every thought.

* * *

_Had he done something? Was she angry? _

_What did she **want**? _

_Why didn't the normally talkative Jedi say anything? The relief he felt when she discarded her weapon with his own evaporated when she'd gone for his armor. _

_Then he started to struggle. She could damn well explain what she wanted._

* * *

The silver circle winks mockingly in his frustrated face. The taunting reminder of something he half wants to forget, to scrub off until his skin is bloody and raw.

Long fingers trail across the purple discoloration, a shudder slides up his spine.

Half of him wants to forget, to pretend it never happened.

Half of him wants to feel those blue lips caressing his skin again.

* * *

_Oh. _

_She wanted his body._

_The thought was dim, hidden somewhere in the mess his mind suddenly was. She tasted like blood and flowers, mouth hard against his own. Bly made sure he kept completely still, not sure how to react, unsure if he really wanted her to stop. _

_His body felt strange, alive in a way it hadn't before._

* * *

So. That was..."sex." A concept not included in his training, and from what he'd gathered from the bits and pieces of information his career had taught him, sex could mean a lot of...something, a little, nothing, and everything.

The bench in the sparse room is hard and uncomfortable but he sits anyways, a nervous hand reaching for the familiar stock of his rifle. The utter foreignness of the situation makes his palms sweaty. Give him a battle or a good ambush anyday.

Not this.

Was it too much to ask for sex to come with a manual like all his equipment did? I-just-fucked-a-Jedi For Dummies? Wait, was sex with a Jedi different? They weren't allowed "attachments" - clones weren't exactly _people_ did they even count? – and did their powers make it different?

It had felt...like life was running across his skin and even the dirt beneath his hands was full of blood, pulsing with a vitality all its own.

Bly isn't sure he likes the feeling.

* * *

_Whatever she was doing was scrambling his brain._

_His mouth was latching on to hers without his consent, a thing he probably would've been disturbed by if he could have formed a coherent sentence. He was hyperaware of every touch, but didn't know if he wanted more contact or less._

_She didn't seem to have the same problem, touching whatever skin was within reach._

* * *

A muscle jumps in his neck as Bly grinds his teeth in frustration. When had life gotten this...complicated?

Three days and five hours ago. Like he can forget.

The messy unfinishedness of it eats at him, spilling out of his neat mental boxes in an alien tide of worry and confusion. Tan hands slide up and down the barrel of his rifle, trying to sooth away the visceral need for answers.

Jedi do not answer to clones. Jedi are few, precious and protected. Clones are many and expendable.

He does not question that. It is as natural to him as breathing. Not even worry so strong he has thrown up twice can erode his nature.

Hell, clones were identical. He might just have been a handy body. Available.

Disposable.

It was like a dog and a bone, he can't let it go. Like a past battle he knows could've been fought better all the details are mentally cataloged and inspected.

An obsession.

* * *

_The contrast between his tan skin and her blue was oddly mesmerizing. He couldn't seem to look away, fascinated by how she moved as she rode him, by the small sounds she made._

_By how she said his name. _

_Her nails left bloody wounds in his skin. His skin felt like it was too tight, his whole body too sensitive. It did not last much longer. Bly didn't know if he was relieved or disappointed._

* * *

He can still fucking hear it, the breathy low murmur of his name. Real enough his head snaps up to scan the tiny room, looking for her.

This must be abnormal. Wrong.

It feels wrong to be this obsessed over one small act.

Civilians and non-clones speak of sex as though it was nothing. A matter of need and convenience.

Do female Jedi simply use clones and discard them? The thought of being convenient doesn't bother him, but thinking of her with others tightens his throat and burns in his stomach.

He can still hear his name on her lips, voice breathy and low. The marks on his neck throb dully.

Booted feet begin to move erratic steps carrying him back to the mirror, carrion fowl circling a rotten corpse. A dog worrying on a bone.

* * *

_When he woke she was gone. _

_He half-hoped it had all been a dream but the bite marks and scratches showed it had been very real._

* * *

The silver pieces fall like a shimmering rain around his feet, the butt of his rifle still firmly thrust though the frame.

He has to fight the urge to stare into one of the shards.

A war is on and he has men to lead.

Bly wraps a small piece of silver glass in gauze before slipping it into a pouch.

The marks on his neck ache dully.

* * *

A/N: Yes I know it has been...ages. I apologize for the delay. When I first started this fic was right before the Clone Wars cartoon came out and...I never got around to watching it so if anything doesn't quite go with Star Wars: The Clone Wars cannon I do apologize.

I hope y'all enjoy it still, any reviews are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This will not be a happy fic. Star Wars doesn't strike me as a very happy universe. _

_Reviews are super appreciated! _

_Enjoy. _

_Impulse_

* * *

_My armor. You know. Self-protective camouflage. Everybody has an armor. Even you, I bet, even though I still haven't figured out what form yours takes._

_Jennifer Sturman, And Then Everything Unraveled_

* * *

The sound reverberates, a quick urgent staccato. The room is tinted an eerie blue from the glow of her lightsaber, the floor cold beneath her bare feet. Aayla can't remember standing. Some detached piece of her mind notes the familiar leaky threadbare tent she usually wakes to has been replaced by dark metal.

A ship? A compound?

Well at least she isn't wet with a rock digging into her spine. That's something.

"General Secura!" The muffled voice from the other side of the door makes her stomach clench sharply, a voice she knows far too well. "General Secura we have received a transmission!"

Honoghr. She is on Honoghr.

Relief slowly mixes with discomfort. She is safe. This is not the battlefield. She takes a deep breath and repeats her mantra. This is not the battlefield. She answers the door with her lightsaber in hand anyway. Normally Bly doesn't knock like the building is on fire.

Then again normal had made a dramatic exit four days earlier. She can picture it dancing out the barn door before spitefully blowing her a kiss and skipping off into the distance while she tries to yank the pants up from around her ankles to chase it.

Well. Awkward it is. Years of training keep the deep unhappiness off her face. A blue hand raises to return the salute automatically.

The helmeted figure in the door makes her chest ache. How many months had it taken to convince him saluting constantly was a waste of precious time? How many hours of gentle persuading had it cost to get him to stop wearing that elaborate painted bucket of a helmet every waking moment?

How had she fucked up this badly? The air knots in her throat and she swallows slowly.

By not using your head as usual Secura. That's how you fucked up. Not even her mind wants to give her quarter.

The clone is every inch the professional: cool, collected, and distant. Wrapped in impenetrable armor while watching the world through the guarded eyes of the helmet. The strangely intimate camaraderie gone.

Now she realizes just how important it had been, how much Bly's good opinion meant.

"Sir we have receive an urgent transmission from General En. The Separatists have a Scientific Instrument Package for 1138 toxin at a Rakata temple and he has supplied the coordinates and requested assistance. We should leave immediately." No inflection or hesitation colors Bly's deep voice. In that instant he could be any one of hundreds of clones she knows only as impersonal numbers and statistics.

Chillingly like a robot returned to factory settings, falling back on protocols. Aayla manages a dumbfounded nod. The clone salutes again before performing a stiff military turn, a strategic withdrawal from hostile forces.

_You broke it Aayla, you must be the one to fix it._ Master Quinlan Vos's favorite scold flashes across her mind, as dryly paternal as ever.

"Wait." The word slips out despite the sudden blankness of her mind, all the carefully rehearsed words and explanations gone. The clone freezes solid staring down the hallway, a carved rock of flesh.

What could she say? What possible explanation could she give? White teeth worry at her bottom blue lip as she mentally curses the complete inadequacy of clone upbringing and Jedi training.

"I don't..." Air rushes out her lungs in a frustrated sigh as she passes a hand across her face. "I'm doing this badly." A bitter smile twists her mouth as she says it. "I didn't...mean it to happen. But it did. The Twi'lek in me came out and...I'm sorry. I don't know what it means to you, but..."

The General squares her shoulders determinedly, the bitter smile never leaving her face. "We're fighting a war now, and there are lives at stake. The Republic needs us at our most focused, being distracted and confused will get men killed. For now...this...will have to wait. When its all over, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

It's a mistake. Almost as the words leave her mouth Aayla wants to call them back. None of it is a lie exactly, sure there's a war and yes, they need to be on top of their game...

Convenient little thing this war? Perfect thing to hide behind _General._ Not even her own mind will buy it. That's when you know you're bullshit's bad.

The apology he deserves is nowhere to be seen. Nor is the reassurance she meant to give.

Damnit.

"It means nothing." The helmet finally cocks in her direction, the voice staying a serene calm. "The men should be ready in an hour. Preparations need to be made. Am I dismissed General?"

Aayla has to force herself to breath. The words are hollow bits of bone.

"Yes, Commander. You are dismissed."

Got what you wanted right? Focus on the mission, the war...Her thoughts are a swirling, racing mass. But damn, why did it sting so much?

The hallway is empty as her lanky form leans against the wall, breathing in measured gasps. An eerie blue glow dances along the walls

Her lightsaber, Aayla realizes. Her lightsaber is still active, a glowing safety blanket of violence.

Who brings a drawn weapon to a tense parlay?

"Stupid. _Stupid." _The empty air doesn't provide an answer.

She slams the door and makes for her boots.

Somehow she has to fix this, she thinks grimly.

She has to.

* * *

A/N A bit AU. Hopefully not too much.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: A huge thank you to my lovely reviewers! I promise the next chapter will be out faster. I will finish this, I promise. Hope y'all enjoy!_

_Impulse_

* * *

There was something else I couldn't quite define-something that made me uneasy. We were a wrong fit, like unmatching puzzle pieces.

― Heather Anastasiu, Glitch

* * *

It was shaping up to be the longest shuttle ride of his life.

The seconds seem to seep by, blood dripping through a soaking bandage. His rifle is beyond immaculate, stripped down and scrubbed with the single-minded intensity born of desperation. Bly runs an oil cloth down the barrel again anyway, staring at the gleaming metal. Reminding his body to breath in an even, regulated pattern.

She is watching him.

It's a physical weight, a strange sensation of something hovering just above bare skin. The marks on his neck ache dully, a tightness sits squarely between his shoulders, and he is irritatingly aware of his own breathing, of the flow of blood in his veins. He would rather face a Sith barehanded without backup.

Where are the _kriffing_ Seperatists when he needs them?

"Commander?" Her voice is calm, serenely calling for his input like she has hundreds of times before. His men line the sides of the little transport and the Jedi has claimed the seat across from him, as she has many times before. He has never felt her eyes like he does today. "Your thoughts?"

He looks up automatically and forgets to breath.

Her skin has never bothered him before, the revealing nature of what she wore never registering. Now his eyes get stuck in the gleaming expanse of blue skin, in the memory of how soft it was pressed up against his own -

No, no, no the mission - the mission has to come first.

The helmet jerks down so abruptly a popping sound comes from his neck.

"Ten men might not be enough." Bly blurts it out, making another determined swipe at his already-clean rifle. "If the Noghri could stop General En..."

The irrational urge to cover her flickers through his mind, to shield his brothers from the chaos he knows only too well she can cause. Bly does not acknowledge the possessive part of himself wants to keep his _vod_ from seeing any of her. Clones are not allowed own a Jedi.

"My hope is that we can sneak in without being noticed then retrieve the package and General En before the Noghri know we're even there." Cloth rustles as she shifts forward but the helmets stays stubbornly tilted downward.

Its a risky plan, putting so much stock in keeping the element of surprise. If the Noghri have realized General En's target they will be prepared against another attempt at extraction. He doesn't like it. But if they bring a large force it could become another drawn-out battle of attrition the Republic doesn't have resources for, not to mention the risk of the package itself. Behind the helmet tan lips turn down at the corners.

"I don't like it either Bly." The hand on his wrist is blisteringly warm despite the glove, the grip steady and strong. Meant to be reassuring, but Bly has fought beside Aayla Secura too long. The tactile tendency to touch is a reaction to her own worry, a betrayal of her unease. His hand immediately twists to grip hers back, to sooth.

She is Jedi, one of the few and special. He exists to serve.

The reminder is almost enough to return his equilibrium, but her eyes are still on him and he can _feel_ it. Perhaps this is why the Order is against "attachments." The marks on his neck ache and his blood pulses under his skin, the dual desires to stare at her and to never see her again.

It feels utterly wrong to be so consumed by one person and one act. It distracts him from the mission, from his men, from his orders. From the things programmed into his DNA. It makes his guts churn.

He scrubs the shining blaster rifle harder.

She is watching him.

It is the longest shuttle ride of his life.

He would rather face two Sith barehanded.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Still with me? Short chapter, the next one should be longer. Enjoy...

_Impulse_

* * *

_Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets._

_― Arthur Miller_

* * *

Her boots sink into the mud as Aayla moves through the dense foliage of Honoghr's forests. The air is thick and heavy with moisture, clinging to her clothes and skin. It collects in the divots of clone armor, dripping off them with each movement. Even lightly armed she sinks into the mud, with their heavy armor and larger frames her men are worse off. Her hopes of stealth are dwindling with each passing moment and clumsy muddy step. The natives will have no trouble following their trail.

Not to mention her Commander will barely look at her.

Force knows she's seen better days.

The white clone armor stands out starkly in the dark dense greenery of Honoghr, even when liberally splattered with mud. Her eyes are drawn to Bly's broad back slogging away ahead of her.

Where he doesn't have to look at her.

Her chest is suddenly tight.

The heavy mist is slowly becoming rain, warm and heavy like the spray of blood. In the already oppressively wet atmosphere it brings no relief.

Maybe it's all for the best. The Counsel has warned her so many times about attachments, herded her carefully away from one after another. Perhaps she is finally learning why, and experience is the bitterest teacher.

She pushes a wide green leaf out of her path, a green the same shade as Kit Fisto's skin. Shame is a quick hot slither down her spine. How had she forgotten him? So wrapped up in the odd ache from Bly's desire to deny her existance Kit had completely slipped her mind. After the war they had planned to leave the Jedi...to raise children and grow old together. She loves Kit.

Her boots sink a little deeper into the mud and the rain comes down heavier on her face. Hot needles poke at her conscience.

Like she doesn't love Bly.

Fear is an icy rush no matter the heat of Honoghr's forests. She's made a mess of this, of Kit and of Bly. Stupid, _stupid_ spur of the moment decisions -

_Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering_

Master Yoda's gentle voice floats to the surface of her mind, a comfortingly stable presence in the Force. Pressed for time in the forest of an enemy is not the time for meditation but she reaches out just enough for the the calming flow of the Force slides over her. The fear ebbs.

The Force will lead her.

Bly's broad back moves steadily forward, and something hovering just outside the edge of her awareness comes into focus.

_Noghri. _

"Get down! Ambush!" Her scream is eerily loud in the stillness, her lightsaber flaring to life as the first of the hidden grey figures come plunging toward them.


End file.
